Posted on January 10, 2017
These are the un-finished first three poems in a series of what stands at the moment as ten poems.
I began writing them in the days after I discovered that my ninety year old grandfather, the best man that I have ever known, was very ill, and i go back, adding more or editing, every time that I need to comfort myself. It is some consolation. I wonder if I will be brave enough to present them to him. I’m certain of one thing, I don’t want to only sing his praises, or my love for him in elegy or eulogy.
In the dawn,
when the light broke
I left the house
where nothing was real.
The heatwave had passed
along with the storm, only one
of the bodies had been found.
Your brown ute was parked
around by the gate behind the shed.
You sat in the driver’s seat, the door open,
your feet on the ground,
and your head in your hands.
I backed away from the scene,
brown water flooding
every sense of the world.
You passed your eyes down to my father,
who in turn passed them onto me,
I gave them
to my son and daughter.
These eyes, brown,
like moving brown water
in the sunlight.
Every hill and paddock was patched green
and yellow with the black hearted daisies
that we made chains from as children.
The farmers complained of them, you said,
‘but they can’t have it both ways,
the daisies come with the rains.’